#-> Thiefofcrows

[therooftopsofketterdam]

Dark eyes followed a storm of equally dark feathers as the crows, calling the Slat's rooftop their home, scattered into all different directions as Inej tossed a small handfull of cernels onto the gables. She watched them hop and squak and slither over the well made shingles as each tried to secure the prized treat for themselves.

Ever since Inej had returned the crows seemed to flock back to that specific sill attatched to an attic window. They'd never been gone exactly but crows remember faces as the Bastard of the Barrel once told her.

As the sun finally started to be claimed by dusk, Inej settled back, leaning against the cushions Kaz had left untouched on this space that was so clearly hers in an area that had formerly belonged to him alone. It was a sort of shared space now, she supposed. Neither her nor Kaz had talked about it yet, too caught up in their found joy, but Inej hung her belt and tunic and coats onto the pegs next to Kaz's hats. Some keepsakes she'd brought with her from her ship took a space on a haphazardly plank secured between too wooden beams that served as shelves. A vase filled with wild gyraniums stood of the former work desk, now table, close to the window. While her clothes still resided in that small, narrow room on the second floor that used to be hers and had never since had another tennant living in it, this place up here, the attic, slowly began to feel like home. With every new memory she made here, every new piece of armour she relearned to discard, that feeling only seemed to grow, like puzzel pieces slowly fitting together that had never quite seemed to belong before. They had transformed it into a space for both of them, together.

Inej smiled, both at this created space and the silly birds outside the window. She breathed in the sea salt air and felt herself relax, finally pulling the coil on the back of her head free, ready to onto the braid, the way she always did at the end of the day. Wearing her hair open around Kaz had been hard at first, wearing it open around anyone still terrified her, as once upon a time she'd been forced to wear it open just to please the whims of Tante Heleen. The familiar thunk of Kaz's cane and the slightly unsteady gait that followed up the stairs pulled her out of her musing and she looked up at him as the door closed behind him. His eyes seemed hard. The darkest shade of coffee and for a second the air was still, they simply regarded the other in this, for them, strangely domestic space. For the fraction of a second Inej feared that the hardness would stay, that he would avert his gaze and sit back on his desk to look through ledgers. That they were children again, forced to grow up and endure unimaginable nightmares and desperately in love but not know how to let themselves feel these emotions and be okay. It was like a fragment, a small shard of glass deeply imbedded in her mind, unreasonable and unwarrented, scabbed over and healing, but sometimes, old words still sharpened it and made it just sharp enough to cut.

Then he turned, shrugging off his coat, hanging up his hat and Inej looked back out to the crows, still perching in hopes for more treats, though she had none left to give. Mostly, though, she did it to give Kaz a moment of privacy after the buisness he had to conduct tonight. It had clearly been a success. Inej had been victorious on her own mission that day, securing information about a trade deal the Van Daal shipping company was about to make with their person of interest. The information was waiting in a note, folded beneath the vase of flowers on the table. Downstairs the dregs would be celebrating.

Up here, Inej smiled at him as he moved towards her, warm and soft, welcoming her boy of harsh lines home.

His question suprised her, though it was a pleasant sort of giddyness that seemed to pool through her chest and into her stomach, her smile turning into a tease. "Do you want to submit those lockpick fingers to a more substantial challenge?" She asked, her voice quiet, but she let go of the braid and turned so he would have an easier reach and a bit of space to sit down if he chose to do so. A silent invitation to follow upon his request. A slight shiver of nerves ran through her as she carefully took a breath, feeling shadows, ready to swallow her pool against her wrists and feet like shakles.

But his hands were ungloved, pale and slender and dextrious. The sight still felt somewhat strange to her, but she thanked her Saints that he shed his armour for her. Never in their life had they moved to strike against her and Inej felt a desire to press a kiss against them. Not yet, when he was flush off a victory and the lines between being king and Queen of the Barrel and simply Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa still felt harsh, but later, when the day had long since passed and they were quiet and there to keep each other safe and if she felt brave enough she would place her lips against them. If he'd permit it.

plotted starter for @therooftopsofketterdam

      As Kaz made his way up the stairs to the attic room, a sense of elation seemed to follow on his heels despite the fact that he'd outed a traitor tonight. It sometimes baffled him how anyone thought it even remotely wise to infiltrate his crew in the first place — he'd illustrated countless times that he was always several steps ahead. Not to mention, it was well known that if anyone crossed him, they'd either end up dead or very badly wounded. Some were even forced out of Ketterdam. He supposed that was one of the unfortunate drawbacks to success; more people wanted to tear you down.

      He suspected they thought, because Inej had returned and they'd clearly taken some steps to expand their relationship, that Kaz would be distracted. It was a fair assumption to make. However, few knew how deeply and intimately such a thing had always terrified Kaz and how hard he fought it when he wasn't tucked away in the attic room that he and Inej had gradually turned into a shared space, somewhere safe ... or, as safe as anyone could be in the Barrel, anyway. And that was where he found her when he opened the door.

      Inej perched on the windowsill that she'd long since claimed as her own, her dark hair uncoiled, revealing a long, thick braid. She glanced at him as he closed the door behind him and her wide brown eyes warmed at the sight of him. It sent a nervous flutter throughout his chest, even now that they'd crossed certain thresholds. After the nights events, his instincts were on high alert and, as always, they demanded that he protect himself from the softer, warmer emotions that churned inside of him.

      However, Kaz knew that wasn't an option here, not if he wanted her to stay. And of course he did. So, as he hung his coat and hat, peeled off his leather gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket, he took a breath and began to deconstruct the emotional armor, too. The tension in his limbs gradually eased, the hard lines of his face softened and his dark eyes warmed slightly in turn. He could see that Inej was about to unravel her braid to let her hair down — and, before he could talk himself out of it, Kaz made his way over to the windowsill, his cane giving its familiar thunk against the wooden floor.

      He'd had a wall hook specifically fitted to the crows head of his cane and, of course, he'd placed it close to the windowsill, where he'd always end up leaning it anyway. That was where he placed it — but Kaz did not sit, not yet. He gazed down at Inej, his expression emitting something warm and soft, despite the seemingly neutral shape of it. ���I can help you,❞ he rasped, the phrase clearly intended as a means of asking permission. She usually lead, initiated something, but ... Kaz knew that Inej needed to know, to be reminded that he wanted this.

[soulfulempathy]

@thiefofcrows

Kaz hadn’t even been gone for a week before Raito showed his face again, almost as though he’d been lying in wait for an opportunity to strike. He’d waited until Yuki was alone on a dark street, and pushed him up against the unforgiving brick wall, his forearm pressed against Yuki’s throat. Vivid flashbacks assaulted Yuki’s mind – on the floor of an apartment he knew so well as knuckles cracked mercilessly across his face, the smell of cheap cologne that made him gag, a slimy aura that filled him with dread.

This time, when Raito hit him, Yuki didn’t freeze. He got angry.

It was a short fight; Yuki’s empathy sliced through Raito, leaving him stunned enough for Yuki to escape from his grasp. A hard kick to the leg dropped Yuki’s abuser to his knees before him.

He looked at the man who had caused him so much pain with absolute disgust. Then, Yuki’s fist collided with Raito’s face, over and over again. Once Raito was on his back against the cold pavement, Yuki was on top of him, each hit getting harder and harder as images flashed through his mind. The dread that chilled his bones when he heard that soft creak of hardwood and the faint sound of a handle turning. Pain radiating through his body as he stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend he was someone else. The fear of realizing what Raito wanted to do to him again while he was bloody and bruised, his only crime having been a demand for a confession.

Raito wasn’t moving anymore. That slimy aura was gone, and his eyes were lifeless. Yuki panted, his knuckles bruised and bloody as he finally came to a stop, and reveled in the satisfaction of knowing his monster was dead.

Well. One of them, anyway.

Yuki left that night. One after another, the men involved in the car crash began to drop. Yuki didn’t beat them to death – no, he was more efficient now, using his empathy to distract and disarm, his small stature to fight, and his knives to finish the job.

He knew what it was like to feel someone die. He’d first experienced it on a bridge with rushing water, and the fear before each member of his family had the life ripped from them had haunted Yuki for a long time. Yuki chose to be kind, chose to be good – but it was about time these men faced the same helplessness, and died in agony.

As he made his way through his list, Yuki did what he could to sabotage Isen; to expose and destroy illegal businesses he profited from, ruin alliances. It was then that he first noticed his ability had changed, that he didn’t just feel emotions, he couldn’t just distract by exposing someone’s soul. Yuki found himself causing panic he could control the intensity of, anger that blinded until the person affected couldn’t think clearly – and therefore, couldn’t help but make mistakes. It was useful, and the more he used it, the better he got.

Yuki had three men left when he heard the news.

Part of him wanted to leave right then, to go back to LA and see what damage had been done with his own eyes. But Yuki knew he couldn’t. If he went back now, he may not find the strength to continue on. And…another part of him wanted to return once he was strong enough. Once he did what he said he would. So many times he’d found himself helpless before Kaz. No more.

It would be another couple months before the last of Isen’s men involved soaked the ground with blood. For a moment, Yuki looked down at his body – but he couldn’t let himself relax now. The job wasn’t done, not until Isen drew his last breath. And Yuki wasn’t stupid enough to think he could go against the skilled, merciless gang leader alone.

The image of Kaz’s face greeted him as he walked away. He wanted to go home.

His return to LA was a blur. Yuki found himself standing on the steps of the Slat without fully remembering how he got there, and his hands hesitated on the door handles. With a breath in, Yuki finally pulled the doors open and stepped inside.

No sooner had he entered did Kaz’s head raise. As he met those dark eyes, this familiar aura washed over him – but something was different. Maybe Yuki would have spent some time looking deeper, if the air hadn’t been stolen from his lungs.

Suddenly he and Kaz were the only people in the room, the chatter of the Dregs fading into the background. Yuki was still. His eyes were filled with a longing he felt to his very core. He’d known he’d missed Kaz, of course. But nothing could’ve prepared Yuki for this. The way Kaz looked at him now had Yuki’s heart pounding, but relief hit him regardless, so hard he thought he might drop to his knees. These emotions that contradicted each other, this aura Yuki drew warmth from at its core, like hovering his cold hands over the embers of a fire when he’d been out in the frigid winter wind for so long…

Yuki smiled.

Just a slight curve of his lips upward. He’d hardly noticed it had appeared, as relief started to outweigh everything else. Yuki’s body thawed. He made his way over to Kaz, stopping in front of him. There was something different about his face, too, the way he carried himself. Yuki could only think of the last words he’d said to Kaz, as he’d gripped onto the black lapel of his suit. 

Come back alive.

But Yuki felt uncertain. Just like everything with Kaz, nothing was one hundred percent. There was always good and bad, and his happiness was no exception. He felt these confusing feelings brewing inside the other, and Yuki couldn’t help but wonder how much had changed in their time apart.

“I’m glad to see you still keep your promises,” he said, just loud enough for Kaz to hear.

Suddenly he couldn’t ignore the Dregs anymore. Reluctantly, Yuki looked away from Kaz to the room, and though they averted their gaze, the tidal wave of similar emotions told Yuki everything he needed to know. His smile faded and he met Kaz's gaze again.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

[alreadybrcken]

{ ♛ x @thiefofcrows x}‌

 Expanding into London wasn’t going to be easy, Tommy knew that. Especially given the fact they didn’t all seem to be on the same page about it. Fortunately, he didn’t need them all to be on the same page—he just needed them all to do what he wanted them to do. Not an easy feat by any means, but he’d achieved far more difficult things. He’d manage somehow.

 For now, the Peaky Blinders just needed to get their foot in the door. Easier said than done. The bigger gangs in London had far greater numbers, with friends in high places and far more knowledge about the territory. Storming in as a lone gang was practically a suicide mission. There was, however, a war going on between the two biggest gangs: the Italians and the Jews. If the Peaky Blinders could manage to build an alliance with one of them, they might just stand a chance. Before making that sort of a decision, however, Tommy wanted to gather some intel himself. Without his men, without Polly, and without his brothers.

 He didn’t approach the Italians or Jews directly, of course. He didn’t want to risk any sort of unwanted attention—not yet, anyway. Instead, he found his way to pubs run or frequented by the smaller gangs. The ones caught in the crossfire of the war, frustrated and angry. Tommy barely had to make an effort at all to gather what he had come for; as soon as the alcohol flowed, so did the information that could perhaps prove useful. If only things could always be this easy.

 Tommy was just about to leave when someone else entered the pub, and the heavily drunk men suddenly perked back up to attention. Whoever it was, clearly had to be someone of importance. In an attempt to remain unnoticed, he sunk deeper into the shadows, nursing the whiskey in his hand like someone desperately in need of a drink and not caring where it came from.

[feilien]

{♚ x @thiefofcrows  x} 

 He had won in the end. Or, perhaps, survived was a better way of putting it. It certainly didn't feel like a win and it had been one of the closest calls Matt had had since he'd started fighting in the arena. His state—heavily bruised, injured, and certainly out of commission for a while—was a testament to that. 

 Worse yet... If he couldn't compete, he'd lose his private cell eventually. And without his private cell, keeping up his correspondence with Kaz would become infinitely more difficult. The true nightmare; much more painful than any injury could ever be. The letters from Kaz were the only thing that kept Matt going. There was no way he would've survived two years of this without them.

 Letting out a heavy sigh, Matt carefully laid down on his bed, unsure of how much longer he'd be able to enjoy this comparatively comfortable place. If only he hadn't let that damn lizard get the drop on him... As fast and as skilled as he was, the lizard had been just as fast—if not faster—and far stronger. Him winning had been pure luck. 

 Then he heard some noise at the door, and his heart sank. It definitely wasn't time to eat yet, and he had still won, so he deserved to stay here even if only for a little bit longer. So what did they want? "Who's there?"

[threebreaths]

@thiefofcrows

Only a fool would believe Per Haskell was anything but a figurehead, an old man teetering on the edge of his grave. Not that Haskell had been worth a second thought even in his prime. No, The Dregs had only become a threat very recently, under the command of someone else.

Kaz Brekker was quickly making a name for himself in this city. A skilled thief and respectable fighter, with an affinity for scrounging up leverage against any unlucky soul who crossed his path, Kaz was not to be underestimated. As long as he could take a breath, Kaz was a threat.

It was a miracle that Raito's idiocy hadn't brought his wrath down on Isen, and his ex-henchman ought to count his blessings that Isen hadn't finished the job.

Raito was far from Isen's biggest issue right now. Another, often defiant henchman had been causing problems ever since he abandoned the Blades. Nakoudo Sakasha. He had directly challenged Isen's position, and Isen had responded in kind. Bloody and bruised, Isen had allowed him to limp out the door. Ever since then, Nakoudo had been annoyingly persistent with his little vendetta.

Perhaps, should Kaz offer some assistance, this problem could benefit them both.

He checked his watch. Kaz wasn't late, but Isen had come to this warehouse a few minutes early. The buildings on this street belonged to neither Dregs nor Blades. Just as Isen would not accept an invitation into a lion's den, he was sure Kaz wouldn't, either. If the message had truly been passed on, it shouldn't be much longer.

The door opened and he heard the sound of a wooden cane tapping with every other step. Isen turned to face Kaz. He was dressed in an expensive suit of solid black, with a heavy overcoat. Isen was dressed the opposite, an off-white suit with no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. It was an...interesting contrast.

Kaz seemed to be young only in years. There were heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, the lines of his face aging him far beyond seventeen. He was as tall as Isen and thin, his gait uneven. But knowing Kaz's reputation, that didn't seem to be much of a hinderance.

"I appreciate you meeting me here, Kaz," Isen said at last. He did not extend his hand to shake. "It is nice to finally put a face to a name."

[cruelprincae]

Your writing feels like it comes straight from the Fey realm itself and, not only that, you're so incredibly passionate about Cardan, it's infectious! Your analysis and understanding of him is 10/10 Top Notch, Holly Black would be proud tbh. Also, you're such a chill, kind and hilarious person, I enjoy writing and talking with you immensely, btw ♥️♥️

Tell me your honest opinion of my portrayal

I am quite literally on the floor sobbing tears of happiness because of this 🤭 not only for the flattery ( which made me blush btw well done ) but also because YOU FRIEND ARE THE BEST AND BY FAR THE GREATEST KAZ I HAVE SEEN IN A WHILE. I am so honoured to write with you you have no idea!

[therooftopsofketterdam]

closed starter for @thiefofcrows

Where were you? I didn't know where you were... I didn't know if you... I don't need a weak link in my crew.

The words still lingered in her mind. The worried almost, crack of his rasp and the coldness that followed. It had settled in the mid of her stomach and coiled itself tight. A tension Inej was able to ignore until now. Until the Neshyenyer had placed it's final cut, slicing the shadows and driving them out.

Sankta Alina was safe. The Darkling was dead. Zoya and Nina stood by her side. That was all that mattered. They had won and despite the waryness in her bones and the safety of the blade against her back the coil in her stomach tightened as she walked alongside her comrades back to the palace grounds. Back to where they had left Wylan, Jesper... and Kaz.

Inej wasn't one to linger on words that were used to inflict pain. She'd had enough pain to last more then several life times. Her heart was set on making good on the promise she'd whispered to the Saints before departing on this journey.

Every abducted child, woman or man, all the people and indentures kept against their will would have a Wraith. She would retrace her steps, go and find her brother, then, together they would hunt down the slavers that took them from their family and their home.

When their small group finally reached the top of the hill and began their descent the acrobat caught sight of a familiar silouhette. Long, crisply tailored coat, straight stance, hand on his cane. Sharp lines and tailored edges. The coil inside her drew tighter as she watched him turn and stopped in his movement when their eyes met. It was gone before she could form thoughts about it. Inej turned away from him, stopping next to Sankta Ali... Alina to pass the Neshyenyer blade on to it's rightful owner. She felt almost naked without the swords weight against her back, but it had never belonged to her. It was fit for a Saint, not a Wraith.

After all words were spoken and all the promises exchanged, there was only one place left to go.

Inej made her way to her friends, past the rubble of a horrible battle, past fallen soldiers, past the survivors. She looked up to see Kaz looking at her glacier grey eyes warming to an almost cerulean, like sun hitting water and chasing away a storn. The coil inside her unraveled. She was home, with the people she called family, the boy she had so foolishly come to care for right there. Her lips called into a smile. They deserved a win.

[evergloaming]

starter for @thiefofcrows!

She didn't spend much time in Little Ravka if she could help it; it made her melancholy and homesick, not for the country that she had never seen, but for the distant land of a half-remembered childhood where she and her mother had lived in a cramped one-room tenement a few blocks away, before Lizabeta sold her labour to a mercher to support Sigrid and then found that her new master had no place for a Grisha indenture's underfoot brat. She couldn't remember if it was a better time or not, but it felt enough like one from her hazy memories that it was best forgotten.

However, it was neutral territory. The gangs didn't operate much this close to the Ravkan embassy with its Second Army representatives, well-trained Grisha with no interest in indulging Ketterdam bullshit on their doorstep, and the cafe did have very good tea, a cup of which sat untouched before her while she tried to look calm and relaxed. For all his reputation as more than a little unhinged - a well-earned reputation, as she understood it - she had never heard of Brekker escalating a negotiation without provocation. She had no interest in provoking him, and if she did, Breina was tucked into a booth on the other side of the cafe with a small mountain of blini to keep her occupied, so it wasn't as if Sigrid was on her own. So why was she this anxious?

Well. For starters, there was the general chaos the Razorgulls had been host to over the last few weeks. Conrad's disappearance had unsettled them all - and Sigrid had had to play up a concern felt for an entirely different reason as she tried to get it under control and made a show of hunting for who was responsible. The dutiful daughter to the man who had imagined himself her adoptive father, who, thank the Saints, was now dead and gone on the Reaper's Barge. She and Breina and Tore had kept their heads cool for six weeks, and nobody seemed the wiser as to what had happened that moonless night by the canal, least of all Conrad Gull's mourning compatriots.

And to continue, there was the matter of Tore's little sister. The thirteen-year-old Fjerdan Grisha was what really kept her up at night, worried out of her mind about how on earth she was supposed to keep Vigdis safe. Had Sigrid been so young when she was thirteen? She could swear she'd felt like a grown woman even then, had certainly been treated like one, but maybe that was just the price of a childhood in Ketterdam. You grew up fast, or you didn't get to grow up at all.

There was no clock in the cafe, so Sigrid couldn't tell if she was painfully early or if Brekker was late, but either way, the waiting was excruciating. He had agreed to speak with her, and if nothing else she was sure he was good for that. With a sigh she kicked at the legs of the empty chair across from her, just in time to see the cafe door open out of the corner of her eye and Dirtyhands himself in the doorway. She waved to catch his attention and sat back in her chair, willing the tension out of her body as she took a sip of her (drinkable, finally) tea. "I was worried you'd gotten lost," she said conversationally, and then grinned. "Should I have given you directions as the crow flies?"

[mvndrvke]

@thiefofcrows : they'll never see you coming.

"They never do."

Harij twirls one of his throwing knives as he listens to Kaz explain the plan to him. He's not worried about the risk, or getting caught. He's been making his own way in the world for a long time. He's not scared. Fear feels like something that's been left behind long ago; he has nothing to lose, so why be afraid? He's a ghost.

He looks at the blueprints and continues to twirl his knife.

"Is this the type of task you'd send your Wraith to do?"

[feilien]

— @thiefofcrows

So sneaky

[wraithqceen]

❝You can't possibly want that.❞ ( monster verse — and oooof boy this has potential to be soft 😭 )

@thiefofcrows

"Is that it then- you refuse? " she never asked him for anything. except to maybe leave and he refused. just like he refused now when she made her request. a request she couldn't believe she managed to voice this one time in moment of bareness....and he questioned it. it clawed at her deeper than any carving she had seen of him tearing into others. vulnerable. exposed. weak. scared. she felt the line beneath her feet fall and her self plummeting as she felt rejected. mocked. one question posed and answered with another.

will you stay with me? tonight?

You can't possibly want that. the dark monster answered.

the darkness she knew - she thought she had befriended perhaps even...perhaps even more than a friend though the word burned in her chest pleasantly. locked away still. is that what she wanted? dark eyes flickered away from him as she remained still as the death he often left in his wake.

[soulfulempathy]

@thiefofcrows

It seemed that, since the plague ended, Yuki wasn't the only one who had turned to a life of crime. Kaz had made himself a prominent leader of a local gang, The Dregs, and spent much of his time at The Crow Club. Though that had been about as much information as Yuki could find out.

It was enough. The first few times he entered The Crow Club, Kaz had been nothing but irritated. Others had been incredulous at Yuki's gall, to enter the gambling house and immediately approach their gang's leader. Though the others eventually lost interest in Yuki, Kaz's irritation remained strong. But Yuki was nothing if not persistent.

Slowly, Yuki's constant presence created a new normal. And he felt that irritation ebb away, until it became something...not familiar, but neutral. Kaz's words now lacked the venom that could sometimes sting.

Even so, Yuki didn't think his three-day absence would be noticed. Not that he'd intended for it to happen at all.

On the first day, he'd stormed out of their apartment, making it to the street corner before Raito grabbed his shoulder and turned him back. Betrayal lanced through his body, a white-hot blade that brought tears to Yuki's eyes.

Tell me you didn't do this.

Raito's hands settled on his waist.

Come back inside, Yuki.

Yuki's stomach clenched so hard that he almost threw up, right then and there. Why? Raito had touched him, soothed him plenty of times. Only his touch now made Yuki's skin crawl, his words sounded like a lie. But most of all...

Most of all, Yuki couldn't deny the malicious intent he could feel radiating off Raito. The man who had saved him from death, nursed him back to health, who protected and loved him...wanted to hurt him.

Don't you realize? He's done it all along.

Yuki ran.

He had enough money for a cheap hotel, only for a day or two. And there he stayed. Barely sleeping, though he was exhausted. Barely eating, though he still threw up. But at this rate, it wouldn't end. No. He needed to hear Raito say it, and then...and then he'd do what he had to do.

On the third day, Yuki returned 'home.' And shortly after, with blackening bruises on his face, his arm, his stomach; with a split lip that flooded his mouth with the taste of pennies; with the sharp pain in his side each time he took in a breath, Yuki managed to escape.

He hid until the sun began to set, until his pounding heart slowed down. But the tears kept coming. The pain pulsed through his body. He wasn't safe here. Was he safe anywhere?

His mind was drawn back to one place, back to one person. Not even the shame he felt could bring color back to Yuki's face. But, if it was between admitting his weakness or taking his chances alone, there was an obvious answer.

Still, it didn't make the stares any less suffocating when he finally entered The Crow Club.

"Is he here?" he asked someone.

The man nodded. "In his office."

It was getting harder and harder to stay upright. So when he knocked on the office door, Yuki held onto its frame.

"Kaz?"

[feilien]

{♚ x @thiefofcrows x}

 Stakeouts had never been Matt’s strong suit. They were boring, tedious and required far too much sitting still and being attentive for long periods of time. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, or that he wasn’t any good at it, he just simply hated them and had always pawned it off on someone else whenever possible. Which was easier said than done when working as the Reaper for the Dregs. It had essentially become part of his job description, and no whining and complaining ever seemed to change Kaz’s mind about it. Matt couldn’t count how many times he’d had to listen to the speech of just why exactly they were so important; all he knew was that it had been enough times for him to be able to recite it word for word if he had to listen to it again.

 Today, however, didn’t feel half as tedious as usual. Which probably had a lot to do with the fact that he wasn’t alone. No, Kaz was standing mere inches away from him as they both observed their mark’s movements. A lawyer with some seriously deep pockets, as well as a safe filled with kruge and all sorts of jewels. But the money was secondary. Apart from the kruge and jewels, he also had a list of names in that safe. Clients. But not just any clients — they all were affiliated with the Bronze Vipers. They wanted that list, and they were going to get it. All they had to do was establish his routine, then find a window of opportunity in which they could get in, get what they need, and get out. All unseen and unnoticed, of course.

 And while Matt was focused and on high alert, his gaze did tend to drift over to Kaz more often than not while he was distracted with the binoculars. Matt was highly aware of just how close they stood next to each other while they shared the window in one of the Dreg’s safehouses. They were so close that he could feel the body heat radiating off of Kaz and all he wanted to do was close the gap between them; an urge felt an awful lot lately. Most of the time he could resist, other times, however…

 Annoyed with anything and everything, including himself, Matt let out a sigh and stretched in an attempt to shake off whatever he was feeling. This wasn’t the time and place, and there were more important things that needed his damn attention. “He’s been in his fucking office for hours now. He has to be going to bed soon. If he doesn’t, I might just lose my saintsforsaken mind.”

[feilien]

— @thiefofcrows

“Be with someone that requires you to grow, makes you forget your problems, holds your hand, likes to kiss, appreciates art, and adores you.”

— Unknown

[drkcr]

@thiefofcrows

Though there hadn’t been much in the way of choice, Nico felt the pain of regret twist his stomach as he was escorted by the Black Tips into a dimly lit office where four bodies stood in wait. One of the guards who held Nico’s arm shoved him down into a chair and addressed the man who waited behind a desk, “Elzinger.”

Responding to his name, the seven foot tall unit curled his lips in satisfaction, “This is the forger? He doesn’t look very smart.” The man motioned towards the papers he had scattered across the cedar table. Fear overwhelmed Nico and he tried to stand instinctively when he noticed the pictures of small girls spread about the mess of documents. A hard hand shoved his shoulder down and he sunk back in his seat. “My indentures. I need the papers for seven of them before the next sunset.”

Parched lips parted in disbelief, but Nico hesitated to speak. He knew voicing his disobedience would only bring him a world of hurt, and he wasn’t in a rush to be struck again by brass knuckles. His eyes were already darkened by bruising that wasn’t healing.

The silence upset Elzinger enough and he stormed around the desk towards the counterfeiter. A raised hand came down on Nico’s face with a smack that left swirling stars in his peripherals. Elzinger tried again, “There’s no more time. You do this now or I dispose of you.”

“Then dispose of me,” Nico growled as he clutched the arm rests in tight fingers. He felt the barrel of a gun bury itself in the back of his head. He swallowed the fear that crept into his throat. Elzinger grabbed a fistful of Nico’s dark unkempt hair and shoved his face into the corner of the desk. Nico’s hands followed, fingers scraping at the edge of the wood in shock. But he took that moment to pull a couple of the photos from the pile and tuck them in his sleeves unnoticed.

Elzinger let go of him and paced away, clearly trying to figure out what he was going to do about securing the fake indenture papers after he’d killed the only forger left in Ketterdam who could make them without the use of a fabrikator. There was a crackdown on forgeries made with that kind of power now that tests could be performed on the papers to detect it. Whatever Elzinger decided to do though, he would have to do it without Nico. The brute must have come to that conclusion rather quickly because he walked back and used a knife to cut open the forger’s throat. The last words Nico could hear in the room were, “Get rid of him.”

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Life shuddered back into Nico’s body with the crawling sensation of moths rattling his bones. He still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling and it took him a moment of agony pulling at the now healed flesh of his throat before he could remember how to breathe. He tried to reach for his neck but his arms were trapped in a plastic that was wrapped around his body. He felt the photos sliding in his sleeve when he shifted his arm. He tried to speak but his voice felt like gravel in the back of his mouth and he realized it was better to stay quiet until he figured out where he was.

[therooftopsofketterdam]

short starter for @thiefofcrows

Night had long since settled over the city, as Inej dipped a cloth in a shallow dish with ice water. Her hair fell over her shoulder, loosely curtaining a side of her face and spilling over the side of her leg and knee, as she looked into Kaz's pale face. Her brown eyes warm and soft on his.

He'd stretched out on the sofa, hat and coat abandoned, tie loosened and vest undone, bad leg elevated with a pillow and his head lay securely in Inej's lap.

"Tell me the other guy looks worse." Inej requested, her voice slightly worried as she brushed some of his hair out of Kaz's forehead, nails lightly tracing over his scalp. There was blood on his face and shirt, some on his gloves and cane as well. She knew how a fight looked like. There were lacerations on his face, a long cut on his forehead, blood trailing from his nose and bruises forming on his face. It looked painful.

Inej withdrew the cloth from the bowl, gently dabbing the edge along the cut on his brow, whiping away dirt, grime, fresh as well as dried blood in an attempt to clean it. The hope was that the ice water would soothe the inflamed tissue and reduce the swelling.

Her mother used to make cold compresses for her whenenver she tumbled off the rope or cut herself on stones and branches while running and climbing. That kind of practice was something she missed deeply...

Inej released a breath she'd been holding as she re-dipped the cloth into the water. "At least none of these will leave a scar." Quietly, she continued to clean his cuts and dab cold water onto the forming bruises. Her hand hesitated when she reached his eyebrow, a shiney mote of scar tissue cut vertically through it. She had always been aware of it, but never had the chance to properly see his scars and Inej wondered what had happened to him that he carried so many on prominent places...

Her index finger gently traced the outline of shiny skin, once, twice, before she moved on. Her hand now cradling the side of his face, a soft brush of her thumb against the side of his mouth where another jagged scar disturbed the softness of Kaz's lips. She'd kissed that scar before and now wondered how his seemed to be smooth and clean cut compared to the gnarled mess that she hid beneath her sleeves.

Kaz's scars where a show of strength, of battles won. Her own were a victory laced with pain, but there was no strength attached to it. Only the hope to be free of the cursed tattoo that had once inhabited her wrist.

Inej noticed another, much fainter rope of scar tissue just above his nose. A vertical scratch that didn't quite seem to fit into the mosaic of scars that marked his face, jagged marks the barrel had left on it's bastard.

Her thumb still rested against the side of his lip as she gently cradled his face to better reach. "How did you get these?" She asked, head slightly turned to the left as she looked at him inquisitively. Scars told stories... and Inej couldn't help but stealing secrets. And Kaz Brekkers secrets were her favorites.